Appropriation Related Death

My facebook home page has been chock full of articles about the recent sweatlodge deaths in Sedona Arizona. And so I feel I have to say something about it, because it is such an example of how deadly appropriation of culture can be. Especially when Capitalism is thrown into the mix.
To start with, it was a weekend retreat that cost $9000 a head. Sixty plus people were all in one lodge. It used PLASTIC as part of the covering. And instead of doing four rounds they stayed in there for TWO hours. And let’s not forget the name, “Spiritual Warriors.”
My Uncle John has been running a sweatlodge since I was a little girl. I have really good memories of going to his sweats, I haven’t been in a couple years, but I will go again I’m sure. I was little when I first went to a sweat. I remember my cousin Luke and I were walking on a mound of old sweat rocks and a man told us to get off of there. They were all jagged. And they made this funny sound, like styrofoam almost, because a rock changes after it’s been in the sweat. Inside was an intensely spiritual and personal experience, and I loved the Cree songs and the praying and the lights and the rattle. And at the end, they would open up a can of berries and we would eat them. Oh yeah, and one other crucial thing about his sweats, and all sweats I’ve been to, is that we would drink lots of water between every round. Rounds didn’t last that long, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. And he would know when it was too difficult for someone or too hot and usually the only really physically intense moment was just before the door was opened.
Even if no one had died or gotten ill at Spiritual Warrior, the fact that my culture is being exploited for profit by a white man oozing privilege makes my blood boil. An experience with the spiritual is not something that can be bought. It shouldn’t come with a $9000 price tag, or even a $250 price tag, like some unlucky local white person paid. Sweats are free, you just need to bring tobacco and/or cloth (at least around this here neck of the plains) if you need them to pray for some specific healing.
My Uncle John likes to google “Sweat Lodge Deaths” and tell us different ones he reads about. Usually it’s the same kind of thing, used plastic instead of canvas for the covering or staying in for a really long time. Really DUMB mistakes like forgetting people need oxygen to breathe and that heat can KILL YOU!
James Arthur Ray is the self help author of this terrible tragedy. He has appeared on Larry King, Oprah, and The Secret, according to his website. He is the President/CEO of “James Ray, Inc.” I think he is a great example of a shining turd. What do YOU think?

I think the Anti-deps kicked in this morning

I was coming home from work feeling happy. And I noticed that it has been a while since I’ve been happy. Nothing major has changed in my life, I have worked the same job since March, and I’ve been living in this coop for about a year and a half. My dog is the same dog, but somehow all these things combined suddenly made me feel good. And a little grown up even. I spent all my twenties doing jobs that paid ten bucks an hour, and suddenly I am making just a titch over twenty dollars an hour. I have health benefits and a company pension. In other words, a real adult job. I’m living in a much bigger nicer 1 bedroom apartment than I have ever lived in on my own. When I think back to my apartment in bad manors I realize how squalid a life I lived there.

When I was a teenager Vancouver was the promised land, I would get a girlfriend and a nice apartment and be a famous video/filmmaker and walk on the beach everyday. Instead, well, you can just read my early entries in this blog to see what my life was like there. I was poor and hungry and didn’t have good psychiatric care, as in an actual psychiatrist. I felt depressed every winter and felt very alone. And I could only have pet rats. Now I can’t have pet rats, but my dog has a longer lifespan than a rat and I needed the commitment.

I think the antideps kicked in. I’ve actually had a very good life here in Saskatoon and now that I am on Wellbutrin in addition to my Celexa I can appreciate it more.

I’ve also realized, after being single for so long, that I don’t NEED a relationship. I would be happy if I fell in love with someone who loved me too, but I’m coming to a point where I have discovered I can be perfectly fulfilled on my own. I miss sex with a partner, and I miss cuddling, and other things, but I have enough joy in my life that it’s not painful to be without it.

Anyway, I feel good, and I’m doing well, and I am hoping that this signals the start of some extended stability.

The Sufferin’ Dufferin

When I lived in vancouver in the late 90’s early Oughts, I used to sometimes go with friends to the Sufferin’ Dufferin. I saw drag shows there. I saw some naked men dancing with elastics for cockrings and white tube socks. I mean, does that count as naked though? I mean, they were wearing socks. Can you be naked with socks on? And do cockrings count as a piece of apparel, even if they are just rubber bands?

I’m 31 years old and I still have these questions.

Anyway, I have heard all kinds of wild stories about the dufferin and people’s adventures there. I never saw anyone have their dick out for very long. It was such a funny place. I once caught a poster of a naked man and ended up giving it to a grateful ‘mo friend.

But my crowning glory, my supreme achievement at the Dufferin, was on their pull tabs. One night I went out to meet a couple of friends at the Sufferin’ Dufferin and one of them was trying so hard to win at pull tabs. And then I went and put in two dollars and won a hundred bucks.

I don’t often win. Usually I lose all my gambling money. But once I won.

And he was so pissed off. I bought us all a beer.

It’s long gone now. The money and the Dufferin. And I haven’t been to Vancouver in months and months.

The Lotus is gone too, or at least, the lesbian version, I remember they always used to play that Spin Spin Sugar song while I was looking for The One. Out of a lot of drunk lesbians in the blacklight. Now they just have Lick upstairs? Do they? Heck, I don’t even know anymore.

I never found a girlfriend at the Lotus. I found three at school and one at a festival through a friend and once my mom introduced me to someone I slept with a few times. I have never picked up in a gay bar. It’s always nice going for the view though.

And I never picked up at the Dufferin. It was mostly the enclave of boys. Maybe that’s why it was so fun, I could watch other people get all sexy with each other and not have any pressure on myself. Boys and Boys is hot. Why else do so many lesbians like gay porn?

Purple

Did you know that I wrote a blog on here last night and it vanished, probably because I was drunk and never hit publish before I shut my computer down for the night.

I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t care about getting a girlfriend anymore. The ones I had weren’t the nicest, except for a couple, and I don’t even know what a relationship would contribute to my life. I haven’t ever been in a monogamous relationship either and the longest relationship I had was only a year and a month.

Maybe I’m not suited for relationships. I am kind of used to the single life.

I don’t really remember how I got into relationships before. I think it all started by asking to kiss certain beautiful women.

I just finished watching Coffy. Coffy Baby, sweet as a chocolate bar!

It’s drink a straight bar gay tonight at Whiskey Jacks. I am going out to see if I can meet anyone cute, smart, and funny. Or just to be among homos! I even dressed up for it, I am pumped, I have no pink but there is some pink on my purple shirt. And I am wearing rainbow cuffs. And as usual I have tattoos and stretched earlobes and a secret hood piercing that GLITTERS! And short hair. I look like a dyke in other words, so I hope that makes up for the fact I’m not sporting a pink item of clothing as per the instructions to build queer solidarity in the midst of a normally straight enclave of drinkers.

Besides, Lavender/Purple is much more a lesbian color than Pink. In old timey days lesbians used to wear violets to signal to the other sapphic sisters.

So maybe I will ask to kiss someone tonight. I don’t know!

The smell is mostly gone

Hello again. I think I have successfully linked fit of pique to my newer google account. I am getting tired of signing in and out of that account just to blog here.

I have been cleaning my apartment and making significant progress. Took out some trash and threw out smelly stuff and picked up in the bathroom. I might stay up and do more, like the kitchen. I’m actually getting really inspired by the idea of cleaning up my home.

I am definitely feeling the stress of realizing I am 31 years old and need to get my shit together. Like doing my taxes. And taking better care of myself and my surroundings. I feel like I have been failing at being an independent adult, and I definitely don’t want to end up in The Home again. Or worse, Mum’s Basement. That really sucks, you can never just be roommates because you’ve gotten locked into one dynamic.

I am boiling water for dishes because I need a plumber to come in and look at the hot water heater. And I won’t get a plumber in until I can get this place looking decent again.

But really, I think I am doing some kind of nesting so that I can start to make some changes in anticipation of the next big romance. With . . . well who knows? But I really feel like I am not the best girlfriend in the world when I’m letting these small things get out of control. Seemingly small things. They add up.

And it takes away from my ability to create. So I need to nest and edit this winter. Well, I hope the editing won’t take much longer.

Minor Mood Fluctuation

It’s not SO BAD. It’s just a minor feeling of sadness. I will be okay. I forgot to take my antidepressant this morning, and didn’t take it on Sunday morning because I had to go to sleep and it would have kept me up. So here I am feeling low. LOW. Poop. But I think I will just try to do one thing this evening that will make me feel better.

I am going to clean my apartment.

I should! It’s such a nice apartment and I need to get it in order. When I come home I sit and sit and sit in the living room or throw my clothes on the floor in the bedroom and crawl into bed. My bed sheets are dirty! i am a dirty girl! The bathroom is gross and the kitchen has dirty dishes and the living room is strewn with papers and XLR cables and other detritus. I am a detritus girl!

At least I am not a horder, otherwise there would be serious trouble. No, I have stuff, but not immense amounts of it. I don’t come into my apartment and tunnel around to the bed and the tv and the toilet. I am not a lesbian gopher. I just sometimes have trouble seeing the floor! And I can’t do tarot card readings until the place is cleaned . . .

and till I get the cards from Mum’s house. I should recharge them, or whatever that is when you clean the energy and make it yours again. Recharging? Like a battery?

I am wanting to make some new short low/no budget video! I am fishing for ideas out of the ether. So far I haven’t come up with something solid. That’s what you get for sniffing ether.

There must be something I want to say, besides Hi My Name is Thirza and I am a Pot head. I mean, that’s a really boring idea for a video. It’s boring enough living that life without devoting five minutes to it! Ha ha! No, I need to think of something entertaining and political and intelligent and hopefully lesbian because there is more queer girls at those festivals. I’m still seeking a mate, I am expanding beyond Saskatchewan.

A blog as Suggested by Friends

I asked folks on facebook for some topics to write about. And this is kind of what came out of it.

The Engineering students at the U of S used to have this annual event where they would get a sex worker and have her ride a horse naked across campus, it was called the Godiva ride and it ended sometime in the late eighties. While I was looking this up I also found that other universities do or did the Godiva ride.

And I always wondered about the woman, like who was she, where did she come from, and what was her story, was she safe?

Next topic: DRUGS!!!

I don’t have much to say about drugs today. I am taking about four psych meds a day, in various pill formations. Along with iron and some other medication. I think I am happier now, which is good, and still stable. Having strange dreams though. I had a dream I attacked this guy who tagged me out during an army entrance lazer tag competition. I threw him to the ground and then bashed his head into the ground twice and then was shocked I did such a thing and feeling guilty and evil and yucky for the rest of the dream. And everyone in my dream told me it was a bad thing. And then I somehow stumbled into the bedroom of my sleeping ex girlfriend and freaked her out and there was a party going on in her living room for her birthday. BUT her heels were too high. It was a STRANGE dream, and even she told me I was evil, not only for smashing this guy’s face, but also for coming into her bedroom when she doesn’t even talk to me anymore. I’m glad it was all a dream.

If you want to help change the world sign up for the AIDS walk here in Saskatoon on the 20th of September and the link is HERE. Proceeds go to AIDS Saskatoon and The Avenue Community Centre for Sexual and Gender Diversity.

Hide Under the Awkward Stairs

It is my night off, having worked from 7 am to 2:30 pm. I almost saw a movie, but didn’t. I went to the fireworks show at the riverbank and was impressed. I also went to the local gay bar, Divas, where I danced a bit and mostly sat in the corner drinking various alcoholic drinks and thinking what it would take to bust up the cute lesbian couple grinding in the corner. Or to join in. Such are the dirty thoughts going through my mind.

I do have some kind of novelty going on with myself, what with being into some pretty hardcore sadomasochistic practices like bloodplay and electroplay. I don’t know if I could do bondage though. I’d have to really trust the person. And PLUS the sparkly hood piercing I have in. That has to win me some glamour points on the sexual scale of awesomeness.

It glints and glimmers in the light. It’s truly a work of art. And my sex drive HAS gone up, so I think it might be working. AND my Wellbutrin is supposed to pick me up too.

Anyway, these two laydeez were so hot, I would have gone home with both of them, but they looked like they were deflecting other’s sexual energy all night. Sometimes when they danced these boys would come and try to dance with them, and then they would lean over and say something in the guys ear and he would dance away looking semi dejected. But if a woman had danced up to them, would something different have happened? Maybe not, but it was enough to keep me curious.

There was ANOTHER cute girl at the bar too, and then ANOTHER after that, so I am feeling a bit better about the prospects in Saskatoon.

I still miss my one BIG love, but it’s over and no matter how much I try to fan the ashes, it cannot be revived. I BROKE it!! And it wasn’t even that committed in the first place, she was living with her boyfriend after all! I mean, breaking that kind of tenous forbidden bond doesn’t really take MUCH, and I broke it big time with all my fucking manic emails. Dammit dammit dammit!

If you could see me, I would also be stomping my foot about this point.

Like a little Rumplestiltzkin kicking my own way into hell.

Such is the drama of a butch with bipolar.

Look out! It’s bipolar butch! And she has been celibate TOO LONG!

But it was nice getting out and watching some women far younger than I bump and grind and generally put on a show while being totally into each other. But it did make me miss relationships. I’ve never had a girlfriend I could bump and grind with, they all had various issues attached to it. One didn’t like PDAs, one had a boyfriend and didn’t want to make him jealous, one wanted to keep her “options” open. It was all pretty miserable. I just wanted someone I could hump on the dance floor and not have to use a dental dam with. And not have to worry that my toothbrush at her house was being farmed out to other nocturnal visitors of dubious hepatitis status.

Posters of the Missing

My cat is still missing. It will be a week on Tuesday. I really miss him. I keep thinking about him and hoping he didn’t meet an ugly end at the hands of some cruel twisted individual(s).

There is entirely too much evil in the world. I was reading about the highway of tears and how now they think they have a suspect in the murders, although so far they are only looking for one woman’s body, and that one woman is white. For those who don’t know what the highway of tears is, it’s a stretch of highway running from Prince George to Prince Rupert where for the last 40 years primarily aboriginal women have been going missing while hitchhiking.

The suspect is in prison for murdering his brother. The police are digging up the property and looking in a well that smells like diesel and might have been used to burn something. They even have special dogs that can locate remains, and a ground penetrating radar device.

I could never work in forensics or criminology. I think it would be a very bleak feeling dealing with that kind of evil day in and day out. Bleakness is a terrible feeling. That kind of loss of belief in human goodness.

There ARE good people in the world still. I know this. My cat could have adopted himself into another family of nice people. But I still think he would come home because they wouldn’t know him well enough to know he likes Friskies.

A missing cat and a missing woman are not the same things. I know this. There won’t be an investigation into where my cat went, and if someone did do something to him, he or she (but probably he) will most likely get away with it. But then it makes me think about all the unsolved cases of missing and murdered Aboriginal women and how sometimes it seems as if our lives are equal to those of cats. Just more faces peering out of faded posters, dotting the landscape, reminding us that we are not safe or protected.

I wish my cat had been an indoors cat. I feel guilty for letting him go outside this summer at mum’s. And now I’m in limbo, wondering if I will ever see his sweet face again.

Schrodinger!!! 🙁

My beautiful Schrodinger cat is missing!! He could be alive or dead, we really don’t know. In the meantime we are keeping check of the cats at the SPCA and handing out flyers and putting up posters and going up and down alleys calling his name.

I know I always talk about my dog Mister here, but Schrodinger is like the salt to Mr’s pepper. He was a best friend of mini dachshunds and played so well with them. He would wrestle and kick and grab them by the head and he could be sweet too, bathing them or just snuggling with them. And he was very intuitive about illnesses, one time I was sick for a week and he stayed right next to me nearly the whole time.

I’m really sad about my missing kitty. He was my first pet when I moved from Vancouver, I got him as a little kitten when he would try to kill me all the time. I just about strangled him! And then he got snugglier over the past couple years and now he is missing!

I feel like a bad mom for letting him go outside at my mum’s for the summer. But he really did like the outdoors life. I hope to god he is on an adventure and will come home soon.